


Touch

by roswyrm



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: "but theres only one bed... WILL THEY SHARE IT???", Almost Kiss, Assumptions, Awkward Dates, Awkwardness, Bad Flirting, Bullying, Cheesecake, Denial of Feelings, Drinking, Emetophobia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Fire, First Dates, Fluff and Angst, Gambling, Give Hamid a Nap 2kFOREVER, Hamid Kills A Man, Hugs, Mental Breakdown, Minor Character Death, Multi, Nightmares, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Pining, Sharing Clothes, Skin Hunger, Tears, Teleportation, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unrequited Crush, bertie down the hallway: THEY BETTER NOT, i don't know how you spell any of these fucking names yall, im so sorry it wasn't supposed to be a shippy fic it just happened, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-25
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-06-16 04:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 15,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15429129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roswyrm/pseuds/roswyrm
Summary: How Hamid has experienced physical affection throughout the years.





	1. Cambrige

**Author's Note:**

> listen i have a lot of feelings about this bisexual disaster man. and i may or may not be projecting my touch-starved-ness onto this poor lad. im sorry. i know this is probs ooc af, but like. Hamid "AND I HUG HIM! I HUG HIM BEFORE HE LEAVES!!!" al-Tahan just needs a lot of physical affection, ok? 
> 
> this is Supposed to be updated every week, but its me. so like. see you in two days, two days, a day, and then seven months for the next chapters, guys!!! also these chapters are all gonna be Hella short bc thats just how i Roll, babey!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hamid makes friends.

Hamid has always been a very touchy person. His childhood was full of linking arms with Saira, warm hugs from Saleh, forehead kisses from Aziza, gently taking his little brothers' hands. Before he went off to Cambridge, there wasn't a day that went by without a hard clap on the shoulder, or a soft hand on his own, or a tiny foot tapping his ankle under the table whenever their father droned on about the bank.

No one ever does that sort of thing at University. Not for a while, because no one wants to be within ten meters of a little Egyptian Halfling who can't speak English very well. He takes to studying. Studying so hard he'll be better than the teachers, even! But they ignore him anyway, and he can't quite grasp how to prepare spells, and sometimes he'll accidentally cast a spell he's never even heard of. He wears his clothes just a little too tight because it almost feels like a hug. 

But then Gideon finds him, takes him in. And Gideon is tall, and blond, and gorgeous, and slings an arm across Hamid's shoulders every chance he gets. Gideon fixes Hamid's already immaculately styled hair by running his fingers through the curls, Gideon smiles and nudges Hamid in the ribs whenever he agrees to cut class, Gideon squeezes his shoulder and Hamid does whatever he asks. 

(Once, Hamid had refused to help pull a prank on a Half-Elf named Imizael Faure and Gideon's eyes had turned cold. Hamid hadn't gotten any physical contact for the rest of the week. "Touch-starved" was a term that Hamid never had to think about before, but _gods_ if it wasn't relevant that week.

Hamid did anything Gideon asked him to, after that.)

People say, if you look at anything long enough, you'll start to love it. That's what Hamid thinks caused his crush on Gideon. Because it _is_ a crush. No matter how he tries to justify it to himself as a fascination, as admiration, as hero worship, it's not any of those things. It is _undeniably_ an attraction. He denies it anyways; denies it to himself, to his diary, to Gideon when he finally asks. They both know it's balderdash. But Gideon doesn't draw away, doesn't look at him the way everyone else does, doesn't stop inviting him out. If anything, he invites him out more, gets closer. Looks at him differently, yes, but not in disgust. Hamid doesn't know what way it is, but he very much likes it.

Then he's introduced to Liliana. And she is beautiful, smart, sweet, and Hamid goes head-over-heels almost instantly. He and Gideon had never been anything real, never been anything at all. The looks and the added touching must have been in Hamid's head because as soon as he and Liliana started dating, it stopped. Liliana isn't very fond of touching though, and Hamid gives her the space she needs. 

He doesn't want to be clingy.


	2. Casinos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hamid gambles, writes unsent letters, and reminisces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one isn't sad i promise. this one is tho. this one is also sad. sorry.

In the casinos, he gains and gambles so much money. There are so many hands on his shoulders when he's winning, and it feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. When he loses, there's nothing. Eventually, all his chips are gone, and he leaves. 

Rinse, run, repeat.

Once, he and Aziza had shared a night out on the roof of the shed, drinking a bottle of stolen whiskey. They had both coughed and spluttered, and there wasn't even enough to get them anything more than slightly buzzed. It was, all things considered, a loss. Hamid and Aziza had made a pact, then: when she turned twenty-five, and could legally buy alcohol, they'd share another bottle. See if the age had anything to do with liking strong drinks. Hamid thinks it isn't the age that makes you appreciate it; it's the world-weariness. He doesn't become an alcoholic, but he does get better at holding his liquor. Brandy starts burning his throat in a way he can usually _ignore_.

He writes letters to Lili, apologising for what Gideon made him do. He writes letters to Gideon, cursing him and asking him _why_. He writes to Saleh, gently understanding why he didn't want to tell the family of his alcoholism. He writes to his Mother, explaining why it isn't his fault, begging her to understand what actually happened with the Dean. He never sends these letters. He writes them and then keeps them neatly in a series of boxes under his bed, which seem to be accumulating almost as fast as the empty bottles are.

Hamid misses them. He misses the casual hand that Liliana would sometimes slip into his. He misses when Gideon would run his fingers through Hamid's hair because it needed to be fixed. He misses when Saleh would elbow him in the ribs and point out the ridiculous moustache of an uncle they were avoiding. He misses when Mother would give him a goodnight hug, and when she would sometimes kiss his cheek with a big _smack_ solely to make him laugh.

He takes more money out of his final gift from his parents and goes back down to the tables. He plays, and he wins, and people cheer and clap him on the back. He feels like he's about to vibrate out of his skin. He plays to win but he doesn't, and he loses yet more money, and there's no-one that even looks at him. He wins back a little more than he lost, but no one pays attention. Eventually, he cashes in his chips, and he leaves.

Rinse, run, repeat.


	3. An Alley in Upper London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hamid runs into an old friend, Bertie gives a small friend in a big hug, and Zolf hires a wizard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one is actually really happy and sweet i promise. and this one isn’t soul-crushing!! is this what “good things” look like? i feel like this is what “good things” looks like.

The first thought through his head immediately after, _"Oh my God, it's Bertie!"_ is _"Oh, he's gotten big, hasn’t he?"_ Bertie is even bulkier than he was when they met at University. He's gone from Young Master MacGuffingham, who gallivanted about with any man that had enough money or charm to Sir Bertrand, who ventures where he must, slaying evil and doing good. It's nice to see if Hamid's honest with himself. Bertie reminded him a little too much of Gideon sometimes. Big and brash and loud and with more gold than he knows what to do with. But Gideon wouldn't try and do this kind of good. 

Hamid helps disperse the crowd, and he turns back to these fascinating people. "It's good to see you again, Bertie!" 

The giant, gleaming behemoth of gold that is Bertie picks him up into a tight —if cold and metallic— hug. "You as well, Hamid. Now, you have to tell me, how did you do that thing with the blood? It was quite impressive if I do say so myself, though not as impressive as the actual blood that I caused, hmm? Quite a spectacle we did cause, eh? What a dynamic duo we do make!"

It's more contact than Hamid has had in months, and he reels from the shock of it. "Yes," he mumbles, hugging Bertie back, "a dynamic duo. You were more impressive, though!" 

Bertie begins talking again, but he's interrupted by a cough from the ground. "Bertie. Put him down, would you?" Bertie makes several hemming-and-hawing noises as he gently places Hamid back down. 

Hamid smiles up at the dwarf in front of him in a way that he _hopes_ is charming, but is probably more worried. The dwarf takes a step towards him and cocks his head. "And your name is..?" 

Working on autopilot, he answers, "Hamid." and puts a hand out for a shake. The taller man takes it, and _this_ contact sends him reeling, too. It's actually a little sad, how such little contact can still reduce him to a bumbling idiot. 

"Zolf. Nice to meet you." Hamid nods, before remembering that you're supposed to respond with words. 

He smiles (shakily, but still charmingly) and returns, "Pleasure."

Zolf smiles back, tight-lipped and professional, before stepping away and clearing his throat. "Any chance you're looking to be a mercenary? We could use a face, and you seem good with people. Lord knows I'm not." 

Hamid shrugs awkwardly. "Well, I'm always up for some work! Some adventuring, maybe." 

Zolf nods, looking him over. "You're hired."

Bertie reaches down and pats Hamid (quite hard) on the shoulder. Hamid reaches up and puts his hand over Bertie’s, smiling up at him excitedly. For the first time in a long time, that smile feels genuine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer and give me attention. i’ll love u forever.


	4. Into Other London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hamid does perfectly good disguises, Sasha does actually good disguises, Zolf is obnoxious, and Bertie is oblivious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the gang's all here and hamid isn't suffering! hooray!

They have to go down to Other London to find the Simulacrum. Hamid and Bertie, dressed in bright gold and vibrant green respectively, have to disguise themselves. Using what is, in Hamid's opinion, the most useful spell he's (never technically) learned, he Prestidigitates both of them to look a bit dirtier. He then smudges some dirt across his cheek, trying not to think about all of the terrible germs that might ruin his usual skincare routine.

He's actually quite proud of his disguise! So when Sasha eyes him over and remarks to Zolf, "It'll only be about five minutes before he's proper dirty, anyway." he's a little offended. When Zolf looks him up and down and agrees, Hamid gets somewhere near angry. _He_ thinks he did a good job, thank you very much. Sasha comes over and says, "Right, hold still." as she kneels down and pulls out a little tin of brown liquid. Hamid, sure it's more mud, takes a large step back. She sighs heavily and shuffles slightly forward, easily closing the distance because her legs are long and his legs are _not_ , and it isn't fair. "It's face-paint, Hamid. For the disguise. Come on." 

He squints dubiously at the tin, but reluctantly mutters, "Fine. For the disguise." 

She takes his chin in her hand, and it's about then that Hamid remembers he has strong reactions to people touching him. Because it's stupid, she's barely touching him at all, but it's still _so much_ contact that it leaves him feeling... relieved? Safe? Like he finally found something that had been missing? He does his best not to lean into her hand, but it doesn't go very well. At least, not if Sasha's slightly panicky, "Yeah, alright, that'll do it." is any indication. He sighs, and she moves on to disguising Bertie as literally anything but a posh, golden tank. 

Zolf clears his throat. Hamid turns to see him frowning. "Well, you look a little more resentful. That'll help, right?" Hamid Prestidigitates his eyeliner back into place from where Sasha had smudged it. 

He complains, "She didn't even do much. Now I just have a little more fake dirt on my face." 

Zolf smirks at him. "Yeah. She didn't even get your hair. It's still perfectly coiffed and everything." Hamid's hands fly up to his hair, looking murderously at his boss. He worked very hard on styling it this morning, thank you, and he would rather it not be ruined for a quick trek to Other London. He squints suspiciously at Zolf, who rolls his eyes. "Relax," the dwarf says, half-laughing at him, "it'll get ruined anyway, I'm not gonna ruin it now." Hamid puts his hands down, and Zolf nods in acknowledgement of the trust Hamid's giving him. He takes a step closer to Hamid and gives him a small smile, eyes crinkling slightly at the edges.

Before he reaches out a hand and ruins all of Hamid's hard work in one quick ruffle.

Hamid squawks and begins trying to fix the damage, as Zolf and Sasha laugh at his _obvious suffering_. Bertie chimes in, "Say, Hamid, have you done something with your hair? It looks much nicer when it's all down like that!" which makes the other two laugh harder. Hamid decides that after they get paid for this job, he's leaving, and he'll never talk to any of these horrible people ever again. Zolf claps him on the back as they set off to Other London, and Sasha gently nudges him, and Bertie reaches down to pat him on the shoulder. Hamid grins despite himself.

 _They're terrible_ , Hamid thinks, contemplating whether or not he could get away with unbraiding Zolf's beard with Mage Hand as he fights down his smile. _All of them— just, the worst._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one is sad again :)


	5. Captured

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Sasha is worried, and Hamid feels awful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is three paragraphs. ur welcome. im sorry.

Hamid comes to in Sasha's arms. He coughs slightly, and whispers, "What— what happened? Are we—" Sasha shushes him and holds him tighter to her chest. It makes him feel safe, even as he realises he isn't. 

"We've been captured by Barrott's men. Just be quiet, okay? Don't let them know you're up." He gives her the faintest of nods and closes his eyes again. She takes a deep, shuddery breath."This is bad," she mutters, "this is bad. This is _proper_ bad." He's exhausted, his chest hurts, his head is pounding, and he feels like he's reliving every single one of his hangovers at once. 

Hamid can only vaguely understand her through all of this, but he can hear the panic. He pats her hand gently, trying not to move too much, "We'll be okay," he whispers, falling back unconscious, "I know we'll be okay."


	6. In Other London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hamid is vain, Sasha reads a map, Bertie hits on his boss, and Zolf says some _really hurtful things_. How could you, Zolf? Do you _know_ who he is?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why would bertie flirt with zolf? go listen to the first ten episodes again. trust me. this shit has a basis in canon. like, not _much_ basis, but more than none. ignore the fact that i'm basically butchering canon for the bits i like anyways.

It is _very_ dirty in Other London. Hamid picks his way carefully across mouldy stairs and grimy cobblestones. "Hamid, are you alright down there?" 

He looks up ( _way_ up) at Bertie, who is frowning at him, looking concerned. Hamid smiles worriedly. "Yes, sorry! I'm just— it's very dirty?" From up ahead, he hears Sasha scoff. And maybe _she's_ used to all this filth, but _he's_ not, and she shouldn't judge!

Bertie nods vigorously, the shutter on his helmet clanking loudly. Bertie shoves it up so Hamid can see his face of condescending disgust. "Yes, yes it's really quite telling, isn't it, about the janitorial staff down here, hm? Just as lazy as the rest of the working class always is, hm?" Hamid winces. He'd forgotten how Bertie could be about things. 

He stammers, "That's not— it's just hard to find clean spots where I can step without ruining these shoes." Bertie makes his thinking noise. (Hamid recognises this thinking noise. It's the one that Bertie made right before he threw Hamid over that fence. Which is worrying for several reasons, but namely, because Hamid doesn't want to be thrown halfway across Other London.)

"Yes," begins Bertie as Hamid looks at him warily, "yes, I see. Well, luckily for you, I don't have to worry about any of that nastiness." Hamid sighs in mild relief.

He mumbles something like, "Yes, lucky for me." as he scours for another clean spot where he can put his foot. And then, suddenly, there are large hands under his arms as Bertie hoists him up. Hamid yelps as he's settled firmly against Bertie's side. 

Bertie announces, "There we are, see? No need to worry about soiling your shoes now! Come along, Hamid!" Bertie trots after Sasha and Zolf, who have gone on ahead.

Sasha takes her eyes off the map to look over at them. "Well, at least we can go a little faster now. How d'you like it up there, Hamid?" Hamid, vaguely shocked from the amount of contact, stammers. 

Bertie, ever the hero, swoops in to answer for him. "I imagine it's quite the change of perspective, eh? Finally, with my help, you can _see_ anything you wish to, hm? Isn't it _glorious_ , Hamid, to be of _average height?"_

Hamid laughs nervously. He stutters, "I'm actually above average height! Well, for a Halfling, at least. I suppose it's relative." Bertie shrugs, and Hamid moves up and down along with his shoulders. 

Zolf, a foot or more beneath him, raises an eyebrow at Bertie. "Six and a half feet tall is pretty far above average, Bertie," Bertie smirks down at their boss. (Hamid recognises this smirk. It's the smirk that Bertie does right before he says something incredibly inappropriate and flirtatious. Which is worrying for several reasons, but namely, because Hamid has never been able to distract Bertie away from saying whatever it is. )

He glares a warning at his friend anyways. Bertie either doesn't notice the glare or ignores it. (Hard to tell with him.) "Well, the rest of me is pretty far above average as well, Mr Smith." Zolf stops walking and fully turns to look at Bertie. _Please don't wink at him, please don't wink at him, please,_ gods, _do not wink at him._ Bertie winks at him. 

Hamid silently mourns Bertie's firing. Zolf raises the other eyebrow, but other than that, his expression stays exactly the same. Sounding entirely disinterested, he says, "Actually, from what I can tell, your _brain_ is pretty far _below_ average." Bertie splutters. Zolf, utterly apathetic about everything he's saying, continues, "And as for the rest of you, I don't particularly care." Sasha, up ahead, looks like she's forcing down a grin. Zolf's face drops into a slight scowl as he turns back around and walks after Sasha. "Now hurry up, we have a job to be doing." Bertie goggles blankly. Sasha is turned to look back at them and Hamid can see her giving up the pretence of suppressing her smile.

He doesn't blame her. Bertie gawping like a fish _is_ pretty amusing.

Hamid pats Bertie's shoulder comfortingly and mumbles, "Come on, Bertie. We don't want to be left behind." Bertie says nothing, still gaping. "Bertie?" No response. Hamid gently pokes Bertie's cheek. 

_"PRETTY FAR BELOW AVERAGE?"_ he bellows. His helmet's shutter slams back into place, obscuring his undoubtedly furious countenance.

Sasha bursts into laughter, Hamid presses a fist to his mouth to stifle his giggling, and he _swears_ he hears Zolf snicker faintly. _"HOW DARE YOU, SIR?"_ Bertie continues shouting indignantly, and Hamid relaxes into the crook of his friend's arm. Sasha stops laughing for long enough to point out directions. Eventually, Bertie wears himself out, and they travel the rest of the way in relative silence.

Hamid is comfortable, content, and wearing clean shoes by the time they reach their destination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer pls come love me. it's all memes and rqg. i Crave Attention.


	7. Hamid's Apartment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which everyone argues over sleeping arrangements, Sasha has a touch thing too but won't admit it, and Bertie continues to be crude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think i haven't used a single swear in this whole fic and im. Proud.

One time, when Hamid was young, an older cousin had lied that she knew magic. He'd asked what kind and she'd laughed, "The best kind! You make a wish, and I can grant it." 

Hamid had clutched at her shirt sleeve and asked, "Any wish?" 

Jahi had told him, "Any wish. But I need something you love to do it." 

Hamid had frowned. He loved a lot of things. He loved his mother, and his father, and his big sisters, and his big brother, and all of his fancy clothes. He couldn't give her any of those things, though. "Something I love?"

Jahi had nodded. "Yes. Like, um. Like your elephant!" Hamid had gotten a small, stuffed Elephant (capital E) as a present for his birthday. The Elephant didn't have a name, but he was soft and fluffy, and Hamid liked to squeeze him when he was nervous. He didn't like the thought of going to bed without his Elephant, but he did want to make a magic wish. He'd thought it over, and then gone off to his room to get him.

Hamid had wished to be a dragon, because he was ten, and because dragons were cool. Jahi had waved her hands, flicked her fingers, and mumbled some nonsense. Then she'd taken his Elephant and left the family reunion with him. Hamid hadn't realised his wish wasn't coming true until three days later. Saira had found him in his room, sniffling pitifully. "What's wrong?" she had asked, looking confused and uncomfortable. 

He'd cried, "Jahi took my Elephant!" before beginning to sob again. Saira had taken a shocked step back. She never was very good with others' emotions, though later she got better at faking it. 

Taken aback and put out of her comfort zone, she'd repeated, "Elephant?" 

He had nodded, nose red and eyes puffy. "The one," he had stuttered, "the one Grandfather got me for my birthday. Jahi told me she'd give me a magic wish if I gave him to her. So I did, but my wish didn't come true! She tricked me, and now I'm not getting my Elephant back." 

Saira had sat down next to him and put a comforting (if awkward) arm around his shoulders and interlaced their hands. "Oh, Hamid. It's okay. He was only a toy." 

He had wiped away tears and leaned his head on her shoulder. "But he was _my_ toy. And I _loved_ him! He calmed me down." She had sighed and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. 

"Well. She shouldn't have taken him from you." Hamid had pouted in agreement. Saira had continued, "But you shouldn't have believed she could do a magic like that. Only the most powerful wizards can grant wishes. And even then, there's only so much they can do with those wishes." He'd looked up at her. She'd given a small half-shrug, squeezed his hand. "You trust too much, Hamid. You trust too easily."

He doesn't remember what lead to that conversation. To be honest, he doesn't remember much of the conversation itself. But he's remembered the end of it. Saira wasn't judging him, she was just telling him a simple fact.

He remembers that simple fact as he lies down on his floor, after finally persuading Zolf to take his bed. Hamid's known him for less than a week, and he already trusts Zolf like this. He trusts too much, too easily.

It took about thirty minutes to convince Zolf that he shouldn't sleep on the floor. But at sometime near the end of those thirty minutes, Bertie got it into his head that Hamid was going to make _him_ sleep on the _couch_ , which caused another fifteen minutes of arguing, even though they were on the same side. And then, _Sasha_ had tried to take the _floor_ , and Hamid insisted that she should take the couch because while it would be uncomfortable, it would better for her back. But then Zolf had argued that _Hamid_ shouldn't sleep on the floor because it was _his_ flat, and it was all a big mess.

Bertie hadn't really cared and went off to sleep in the guest bed as soon as that was settled. Sasha had stayed up, trying to help them sort it out. She'd suggested, "Couldn't you just share it?" 

And Bertie had shouted from the guest room, "Please don't, the walls are very thin! And _some of us_ ," heavy rustling, "would like to get to sleep! Which I'm sure would not be aided by any, ahem, _thumps_ on the walls." Sasha had cocked her head in confusion. Zolf had glared down the hallway, face creeping towards a shade of red that's probably not healthy. Hamid had pinched the bridge of his nose, entirely too used to this to be embarrassed. Bertie, never one to cease _nor_ desist, had continued emphatically, "Or _other_ noises. I shared a room with Hamid in University, I already know far too much about what he enjoys." Hamid had briefly entertained the thought of strangling his friend. "And I don't particularly care to find anything of that nature about Mr Smith." At which point, Zolf had gone absolutely _scarlet _with rage, stormed off, slammed a door, and locked himself in the bathroom.__

__Which Hamid feels was an entirely justified reaction._ _

__Hamid just took the floor. If Hamid isn't taking the bed, then Zolf will have to. Simple. And less difficult than arguing for another three hours._ _

__Sasha, curled up on the sofa, remarks, "I didn't know you could _go_ that red." Hamid, who's taken a comforter off of his bed and laid down next to the couch, sighs heavily. _ _

__He tells her, "You have to be really angry to get to _that_ shade." Sasha grunts noncommittally. _ _

__"Or embarrassed. I had a mate once, we called him Half-Faced Trevor. One time, I snuck a ferret into his pocket, yeah? As like, a birthday present? And he was allergic! I just wanted to give him a nice pet, you know? But, ugh, I got so embarrassed, you know? I don't know if I went quite _that_ colour, but it was probably pretty close." The sheets rustle, and when she speaks again, her voice is slightly closer to him. "They called me 'Strawberry Sasha' for weeks."_ _

__Hamid suppresses a giggle. "Strawberry Sasha." He repeats. She waves a hand at him, shooing him away. "It's kind of... cute, don't you think?" She groans, and Hamid finds where her head is because she shoves a pillow over it._ _

__A hand drops over the side of the sofa dramatically. He tries not to laugh, he really does, but... well, it's funny! At least a little bit! She groans, "Please don't call me _cute_ ," and Hamid reaches up and squeezes her hand the way he used to do with Saira to commiserate without using any words._ _

__She stiffens, hand going still and rigid._ _

__He drops it and apologises profusely, not sure what line he's crossed. She doesn't jerk her hand away, but she doesn't seem to have relaxed either. "Sorry, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you—" She mumbles something, but Hamid can't quite make it out. "Sorry?"_ _

__She mumbles again, slightly louder, "I said, it's whatever. I just. Y'know. Gimme a warning, yeah? It's fine if I know what's coming."_ _

__Hamid reaches up to take her hand again, but he stops. "Do you mind? I have a cousin who doesn't like hugs, so if you just don't like to be touched, I understand completely." The sheets stir._ _

__Sasha's hand stays where it is. She says, "I mean, I never really got a lot of hugs or stuff, you know? I dunno if I like them. I just want a warning on account of, like, how the only time someone touches you in Other London is if they're stealing from you or punching you. Or maybe stabbing. And like, I know you won't do that, because you're nice and all, but. Yeah. Makes me nervous." Hamid purses his lips._ _

__He warns, "I'm going to take your hand now, okay?" and then he does. And it isn't as overwhelming as it was when she was putting face-paint on him, but he isn't sure if that's because there's less contact or because he's more used to touch now. Sasha's hand is cold. He doesn't know _how_ it's cold, she was wearing gloves not five minutes ago. Neither of them says anything, and Hamid can't tell if it's awkward or if he's imagining it. He murmurs, "I _did_ get a lot of hugs when I was younger." just to fill the silence. _ _

__Sasha snorts. "Yeah, you seem like the sort." He laughs, softly. Sasha twists her hand so that their fingers are intertwined. Her ring finger isn't there. Hamid doesn't mention it._ _

__(He'll awake to Sasha sitting on a counter, feet tucked up beneath her, with a cup of black coffee. He'll wake Bertie, and find that he's has somehow tangled himself so badly in the sheets it takes _scissors_ to undo him. Hamid will Mend the sheets afterwards, of course. _ _

__He'll go to his room to wake up Zolf, and discover that the dwarf had slept on the floor. Zolf won't wake easily, though he _will_ promise to bludgeon Hamid several times before he's awake enough to realise who he's threatening. Hamid will raise his eyebrows, smother a grin and ask, "Did you notice the perfectly good bed right next to you?" _ _

__Zolf will swat at him and halfheartedly repeat, "It's your apartment. You should've gotten the bed."_ _

__Laughing, Hamid will exclaim, "I was already on the floor!" and Zolf will try and think of a logical rebuttal, fail, and give Hamid a light shove._ _

__"Shut up," He'll respond without heat, forcing back a smile. Hamid will make pancakes for first breakfast, and be shuffled out the door before second breakfast.)_ _

__(He doesn't know any of this yet. He doesn't know that he'll fall asleep with Sasha's hand still in his, or that the trip to Kew Gardens will be full of biting words and regrettable decisions. He knows that this is nice, though. He knows that Sasha's hand is the perfect temperature. He knows he feels safe.)_ _

__(He knows enough.)_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im still @roswell-the-wrongdoer im still lonely i still crave attention. i'll love u forever if u send me an anon.


	8. Kew Dungeon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Zolf investigates and Hamid comes to a realisation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so. listen. this wasn't going to be too shippy. but. consider: i love them.  
> (also i blame emma for this. she's on tumblr and on here as hinotorihime she's great and terrible)

There's a man trapped in a room, Hamid's being the leader right now (which he dislikes immensely), and the lights are red and flickering and creepy and Hamid would really just like to take a nap. But he can't. Because he has to lead the team, at least for now. Sasha can read lips, and she's relaying some of the things he's saying. "He's asking if we got everything? Like, if we got all the monsters. I think we did, right?"

Bertie says something, but it's masked by a _pfft_ noise from behind him. There's the slightest tap at the back of his head, and suddenly everything is yellow. "Um," he announces, "guys?" Sasha continues, and small golden flecks drift across his vision. He stumbles slightly forward, and calls again, "Guys, why is everything yellow?" The flecks begin to grow until he can't see anything except a solid mass of yellow. 

He hears Zolf, softly, worriedly, "Hamid? Hamid, are you alright?" 

Sasha jokes, "Did you get yellow eyes or something?" 

There's another _pfft_ and another tap at the back of his head.

And then suddenly he can see again. There are hands on his shoulders and Zolf is looking at him worriedly. "Hey! You're back! Are you okay?" Hamid blinks. And then blinks again, to clear all of the yellow specks out of his vision. 

He absentmindedly puts his hand over Zolf's and stammers, "Um, maybe! Yes! I think. Probably? What was that? What happened?" 

Zolf shrugs, taking his hands away. "I don't know. You blanked out and didn't respond to anything." He brings a hand up and sweeps a thumb across Hamid's cheek. "Uh... it might be... it's definitely _yellow_. I'm not sure what it is _exactly_ , though." Zolf grins sheepishly. Hamid's heartbeat doesn't stutter-stop the way he usually does when someone touches him. No, the flutter in his chest is familiar, but it isn't _that_ and-- oh, dear. Oh, dear, Hamid knows what that feeling is. Hamid puts that familiar stutter-stop into a mental box and then sets that box alight. He refuses to deal with that now. Fancying his boss is a problem for later. He'll sort through his emotions _later_. 

"Is there a monster?" He queries, praying desperately that the answer is "no". There's a wet, shuffling groan from behind him. He sees a small yellow _something_ fly through the air and hit Bertie directly in the face. Bertie goes slack, his stance dropping to that of a puppet's: feeble, rigid, barely held aloft. As Hamid whirls around, there's a hiss of steam and croaking. A shroud of scalding water vapour and small treefrogs block a hulking figure from Hamid's view. The figure gives a guttural squelch and rushes forward.

"Ah. I've found the monster. Thank you, Zolf."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blease.......... im at @roswell-the-wrongdoer come show me affection


	9. Lectures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Zolf tells his employees off, Bertie is oblivious, Sasha wishes she could flow away from this conversation, and Hamid is comforting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> listen i know technically hamid doesn't do any reaction to contact int this chapter but like. there Was gonna be some of that and then i couldn't get it to work but i fucked around with this chapter for actual literal weeks so Fuck That Shit im posting it

"Well, if there's anything Sir Bertrand MacGuffingham stands for, it is long and storied British institutions being protected from the consequences of their own stupidity!" Hamid knows better than to try and impart anything on Bertie, so he glares at the _floor_ instead of at his friend. 

Fighting to compose himself, he begins, "Well, that's not _quite_ what I meant--" 

But Zolf interrupts, "Thank you, Bertie, you've just crystallised my argument." Hamid glares at the floor harder.

"Now, here's a what-if for you: what if that crisis happens again?" He meets Zolf's eye and almost flinches away from the amount of steel held there. 

Almost. 

But Hamid meets his gaze and says, "Then I hope there are people like us around to help save them." Zolf's expression doesn't change at all, but Hamid could swear he sees a glint of wrath spark in his eyes. 

"That will be your fault." Hamid starts to argue, but Zolf cuts him off with a finger pointed into his chest. "If that happens again, because of _their own stupidity_ ," Bertie nods serenely, glad his words are being used, "that will be because of _you_." 

There's no rush in Hamid's pulse from the close contact, all he feels is a fierce indignation and righteousness. "I disagree," he announces, struggling to keep his voice level. He can feel his nails begin to dig into his palms in a fashion that is distinctly claw-like, but he disregards it in favour of staring down his boss. Zolf glowers back. Hamid is distantly aware that Sasha is flicking a knife about her fingers restlessly.

That distant awareness becomes immediate awareness as she blurts, "Oh, Bertie, look at the time!" 

Bertie, blissfully ignorant of the obvious attempt at a distraction, says, "Oh! My goodness!" and begins walking toward the door. Zolf reaches up and grabs him by the arm, dragging him to a stop. Sasha winces, looking like she'd have been out of the room within two seconds of Bertie's departure. 

Zolf drops Bertie and rubs at his temples. "Right, to sum up: Fine, you'll try and help people. The point is," he exhales slowly, in a way that Hamid recognises as stalling, "I don't want any of you dying." 

He says it quietly, and Hamid suddenly remembers that Zolf has seen all of them get _far too close_ to dying. Bertie settles a gauntlet over where the swarm had torn at him, looking disappointed with himself. Sasha grimaces, embarrassed, and reaches up to pick at the burn mark as it shifts alongside her mouth. Hamid's eyes find the floor as he guiltily puts a hand over his ribs, which are still cold from the weird fungus. 

Zolf continues, with more confidence, "You are here because of me. I got you into all of this. I hired you, and I'm responsible for you. _I don't want any of you dying_." Hamid puts a comforting hand on Zolf's arm. Zolf blinks at him, clearly surprised. 

Hamid gently asserts, "I appreciate your advice, and I will do my best to listen to you. I don't wish to be reckless, and I realise I have a tendency to do so. But. I will not stop trying to help people. Can you accept that?"

Zolf shrugs the hand aside and snaps, " _Yes_ , just don't get yourself _killed_." in a tone that sounds far harsher than Zolf really means. 

Hamid smiles and replies, "I'll do my best." Zolf grumbles something which Hamid doesn't understand, but is probably annoyed swearing. 

Sasha raises a finger and adds, "Don't run off?" Zolf Looks at Bertie. It's a significant Look. Bertie stares off in the opposite direction in what might be a show of ignoring him, or what might be accidental. 

Zolf expands on the point, still Looking at Bertie. "Yeah, actually. That's a good point. Don't run off all on your own." Bertie shows no sign of having heard him. Zolf sighs. "Anyway, Bertie, you have an interview to get to." Bertie perks up again and begins brushing some dust off of his shoulder. Hamid steps up to his friend and pulls out a handkerchief. 

"Here, Bertie. Allow me!" Hamid Prestidigitates Bertie's armour back to its usual spotless sheen, and cleans all of the weird pollen whatever-it-is off of him. 

Bertie beams at him, and taps at his inner wrists. "Did you do the thing?" 

Hamid furrows his brow. "The thing? Oh, yes, the cologne!" He reaches up and passes a hand over Bertie's wrists, Prestidigitating some Impossible-To-Wear-Off-Cologne on. It reminds him quite a bit of University. "There you are. Have a nice night, Bertie." 

Bertie kneels down, pulls Hamid into a brief hug, and then strides out the door. "I'll see you in the morning! Most likely!"

Hamid grins. The door closes. From behind him, sounding utterly bewildered, Zolf asks, "Did he just go off to a _date_ wearing full-plate armour covered in falcons?" Hamid's grin slowly shifts to a puzzled frown as he realises _yes, yes he did_. 

Hamid reasons, "Uh. It's a power-play, I suppose?" Zolf cocks an eyebrow. Hamid does have to admit, it's far more likely Bertie just forgot to take it off.

Sasha snickers. "Clank, clank, clank," she mimes tottering with big steps, and, in her best Bertie impression, bellows, " _'Table for two!'_ " 

Zolf gives a bark of laughter before covering his mouth and saying, "No, that's not funny. That isn't funny." but he laughs through the whole sentence. Hamid starts giggling, too. Sasha smiles delightedly.

Hamid claps his hands together. "Well, good news! Now we won't have any debates on who has to sleep where!" 

Sasha's hand shoots up into the air and she yelps, "Dibs on the couch!" 

Hamid knits his brow. "Are you sure you don't want the guest bed?" 

She shakes her head vehemently, short hair whipping about her face. "Nope. I've called dibs. It's mine now." 

Hamid raises his eyebrows sceptically but doesn't say anything. "Well, I suppose I'll take my bed, and you can take the guest?" he half-questions. Zolf nods. 

"Sure. And, uh," he twists his ring around his finger and doesn't make eye contact with either of them, "about what I said. I mean it. Don't die. I like having you both around." 

Sasha shrugs and lightly nudges him. "Yeah, well, I like being around. So. Don't worry about it."

Hamid beams. "Yes, what Sasha said. I quite like both of you, I don't plan on leaving any time soon." Zolf glances over at him, then to Sasha, before shifting his eyes to the floor. 

He mutters, "Yeah, well, that's. Good. Great. I'm gonna go to bed, now." and makes his way down the hall. Hamid feels his mouth pull upwards into an involuntary smile. 

"Goodnight," he calls, and Zolf grumbles something back, before closing the door to the guest bedroom. "Sleep well, Sasha." She curls up into a corner of the couch and gives him a half-smile. 

"Cheers, mate. You too." He smiles back and wanders off to his room. He only has a few nightmares about giant tentacled plants that want to kill him and all of his friends, which is far better than what he expected.


	10. On the Train

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Sasha gets drunk and then nauseous, Bertie and Zolf are amused, and Hamid finds out _exactly_ how boney Sasha's elbow is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for emetophobia

Sasha is _astonishingly_ drunk. "Did I ever tell you," she slurs, half slumped over the table, "'bout the time I stole Mr Gusset's watch?" Bertie, sat opposite them, takes a sip of his own wine. 

"Yes, you did, young lady. Several times." Sasha hiccups. The train judders and she groans in annoyance. She sits up from the table and lies down across the seat. Except Hamid is in the chair with her, and she's far too sloshed to move under her own power, so she sort of slides off the table and onto Hamid's lap. Hamid squawks indignantly, but he doesn't try to remove her. 

"What," she mumbles, "what about when I stole a dolphin?" 

Hamid looks down at her and knits his brow. "How do you steal a _dolphin?"_ Zolf, who's been looking out the window, turns to shoot Hamid a quizzical look. Hamid shrugs at him. 

Sasha garbles, "Like, a little one." 

Zolf squints at the seat above where Sasha is (because she's sort of disappeared beneath the table). "That doesn't clear anything up," he tells her. 

She props herself up (by jamming an elbow into Hamid's thigh) and holds up her finger and thumb, close together. "Like, it was only _this_ big. You didn't even _notice_ it, Zolf! I jus', I jus' took it! And you didn't notice! And I still don't know how it got so warped. It's _really_ warped. But like, it's still smooth? And I don't know how that happened!" Zolf squints at her before his eyes widen in shocked realisation, and he claps a hand to his chest.

"Sasha! That's my holy symbol, _I need that!"_ Sasha pouts. Bertie guffaws. Hamid wishes Sasha would move her elbow. Sasha rifles around in her coat, pulls out a familiar driftwood dolphin, and tosses it to Zolf. Zolf snatches it out of the air and holds it to his chest protectively, glaring at her. Bertie is still chuckling to himself. 

"Sasha?" asks Hamid, "That's my thigh." Sasha turns her head and looks at him. 

"What is?" she slurs, and Hamid raises his eyebrows at her. 

"The thing your elbow's jammed in." Sasha blinks. Then she seems to process what's been said and jerks her elbow out of Hamid's thigh, which causes her to crash down into his lap once more. 

"Ow," she announces. Hamid sighs heavily. 

Sasha reaches up and puts a clumsy hand on top of his head. "Why's your hair so fancy?" she asks, and Hamid turns to Bertie with a look of _save me_ in his eyes. Bertie beams back, either unaware of Hamid's distress or too amused by it to do anything. (It's hard to tell with him.) Sasha, now tugging at one of the curls, continues, "It's so springy! My hair doesn't spring, it just sort of," she lets go of his hair and pulls on a bit of her own. "Lays there. It's so flat. It doesn't do anything cool like yours does! Yours springs!" Hamid turns the _save me_ expression to Zolf. Zolf grins back, looking far more entertained than he has any right to be. 

Hamid tries, "Why don't you sit up, Sasha? You can see the countryside!" and thankfully, that seems to interest her more than Hamid's hair does.

She presses her nose up against the glass. "Wow," she breathes, "it's so. Big." 

Bertie nods and declares, "The country _is_ pretty big, yes. It's supposed to do that!" 

Sasha narrows her eyes at the field outside. "You could," she trails off and begins to look a bit queasy. "You could put. A house there. A lot of houses would fit there. Like, it seems like a bit of a waste, you know?" Hamid nods and makes noises of agreement. "I think," Sasha mutters, turning back to them, "I'm gonna be sick." 

Hamid just manages to say, "Please don't," as all of the wine she's had, along with part of a sandwich, splats onto the table. Bertie and Zolf recoil; Bertie, utterly disgusted, and Zolf, sympathetic. Hamid Prestidigitates the table clean and moves out of the booth, holding out a hand to Sasha. "Let's go to the restrooms, shall we? I'll hold your hair back for you." 

She stumbles out after him, holding her stomach and looking green. "I feel better," she insists, following regardless.

She kneels over the toilet and mumbles, "I don't even have that much hair to hold back." 

Hamid rubs her back comfortingly and tells her, "I know, but I didn't want to be left alone with Zolf and Bertie. Making sure they don't insult each other is _tiring."_

Sasha snorts a laugh before vomiting the rest of the sandwich up. "They can be- what was in that sandwich? - Pretty fun, though. I think I learned some new swear words, last time they argued." 

Hamid pats her on the back. Sasha wipes her mouth with her sleeve. 

"It's better than when Bertie was flirting with him, at least." Hamid wrinkles his nose at the memory. Sasha looks up at him and grabs at his hand, interlacing their fingers. "Thanks, Hamid. For being here and for... yeah. You... you're a good friend." He squeezes her hand and smiles. She smiles back, before turning back to the toilet and throwing up again. "Ugh."

Hamid hands her a peppermint.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does this fic have any plot whatsoever? no. do i love it? Yes.


	11. In Dover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Bertie treats himself, Brutor makes a brief cameo, and Hamid is bewildered and amused in equal measure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look don't get me wrong bertie is terrible but he's fun to write and hamid had such a fun friendship with him. anyways brutor makes a three-sentence appearance and you're all welcome. also! sorry this was posted later than usual! im sick and dying!

Hamid returns to the hotel room in Dover with an armful of legal books, reams of blank paper, a pen between his teeth, a strong distaste for the post workers here, and what might be the beginning of a head cold. His hands are far too full to turn the knob, and he's reasonably sure Bertie and Sasha went out for lunch somewhere, so they can't be of any help. Hamid just manages to turn the knob with his elbow, shove the door open with his knee, and stop it from slamming into the wall with his ankle. He's about to drop all of the books onto whatever surface is nearest when he notices Bertie.

Bertie is lying, spread-eagle, on the floor. His armour isn't on, which answers one question and establishes several others. Hamid raises his eyebrows. "Bertie?" It's slurred by the pen between his teeth, but Bertie seems to understand. 

Still on the floor, he answers, "Ah, Hamid! Yes, hello! How are you doing?" Hamid raises his eyebrows further. "Hamid? Did you leave?" 

Hamid sets the books, paper, and pen down on an end table and walks toward Bertie. "I'm still here. What are you doing?" Bertie moves to sit up but then seems to think better of it and settle back down. Hamid's close enough that he can see what looks to be a yellowish goop coating Bertie's face. There are cucumber slices over his eyes.

Bertie informs him, "I asked for a spa treatment for Brutor and I! Which they were more than happy to provide. And! Look!" Bertie flings his hand into the air, almost hitting Hamid upside the head. Hamid jerks away and avoids the unintended blow. He leans back in cautiously, and it looks like Bertie's gotten his nails painted. They're an ugly mustard yellow that Hamid is sure clashes against Bertie's usual undershirt. He winces, but knows better than to say anything. Bertie probably picked that shade himself. 

"Ah. That's nice. Where's Sasha?" Bertie shrugs. Hamid hears nails clicking on the hardwood floor of the room. He turns to see Brutor, with similarly painted nails and a cucumber slice hanging out of one corner of his mouth, head held high. Hamid sighs.

(Saleh had a dog like this, once. Except, Saleh's dog never learned manners, just tricks. And _she_ never developed a _narcissistic complex._ )

Hamid watches as Brutor click-clacks his way across the room to where he and Bertie are and curls up on Bertie's foot. Bertie mumbles (shouts at a slightly lower decibel than usual) encouragements at Brutor. Hamid rolls his eyes. He goes back to the end table to get the books and paper and pen so he can go to his bed and copy down the legalese he'll need, but he pauses. 

"Bertie?"

Bertie stops his encouraging to turn in what is vaguely Hamid's direction and ask, "Hm, yes, what?" 

Hamid scratches the back of his neck and asks, "Would you mind if I sat next to you while I worked on the case?" 

Bertie snorts derisively. "Of course, Hamid!" He pats the ground next to him in an invitation, and Hamid grabs his supplies and sits. As he begins to copy the necessary proceedings down, Bertie says, "You know, this reminds me of University! When we would work on Calculus together. Remember, Hamid?"

(Hamid sort of does. The memories are hazy, and he's pretty sure one of Bertie's boyfriends was usually there, so Hamid tries not to think about those study sessions. He'd rather not try and remember all of the terrible puns Bertie has made in the name of finding a bedmate. )

Bertie continues regardless, "I would be sitting here, and that pretty blond friend of yours," Hamid manages not to white-knuckle the pen at the mention of Gideon, but only just. Not one of Bertie's boyfriends, Hamid's almost-boyfriend. Right, of course, "would be sitting across from us, and you would be there, and I would do all of my coursework!" 

Hamid manages a laugh that doesn't sound strained at all. "Bertie, you would cheat off of my coursework."

Bertie stops and thinks. "Ah. Well. I still _did_ the coursework." Hamid laughs again, but this time he means it. As Bertie continues to tell Hamid all about what happened at that study group (only a quarter of which has even a kernel of truth to it), Hamid pauses. Bertie rambling about things that never happened while Hamid does all of the work actually _does_ remind him of University. He lets himself smile at that thought, before getting back to work on getting Zolf out of jail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer and i make rqg shitposts like my life depends upon it please come say hello i'll love you forever. (oh, also, the next chapter is Very zolf/hamid, so if that's not your jam, don't read it. no, they weren't supposed to be a thing in this. no, i don't understand how this ship appeared in this work. no, im not rewriting it bc apparently, i can't write them platonically. yes, i'm sorry if you wanted to read anything by me with zolf and hamid that doesn't have an element of them together. obviously, i'm just incapable of that.) (emma, you're welcome.)


	12. South of Calais

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Sasha is sleepy, Hamid is a bisexual disaster, and Zolf is. Very close. Like, _very_ close. (Was it mentioned that Hamid is a bisexual disaster? Because he is. He really, _really_ is.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo thanks to hinotorihime who beta'd and also got me out of my "ugh anything i write after this paragraph is ugly help me"-block. you know! it's like writer's block, but worse. this is heavily zolf/hamid, so if that's not your jam, i wouldn't recommend this chapter.

"I'm just gonna take a nap, yeah? Just, I'll, um," Sasha stumbles through her words and to the sandy ground. 

Hamid smiles, exhausted. "Yes, that sounds good." 

She nods, already half-asleep, and tucks herself further into her jacket. She yawns, "Night, Hamid," and starts snoring as soon as her head hits the earth. Hamid laughs softly, before yawning himself. He slips his sleeves off, back on, and then does so again, so his nightclothes have fleece on the insides. He Prestidigitates his makeup off, lies down near-but-not-next-to Sasha, and closes his eyes.

Sasha, for someone so unnoticeable, snores _very loudly_. She's curled into a tiny ball, hands wrapped around her sides, and snoring like Bertie with a head cold. It'd be impressive if it weren't so disrupting. Hamid almost manages to go to sleep, but then she snorts, and he's fully awake again. Hamid sighs and rolls over, trying to make himself comfortable on the cold, unyielding sand. 

This repeats.

On what might be the seventh rude awakening Hamid's suffered, he hears wet sand crunching underfoot, getting closer to their little campsite. He's got Magic Missile on his fingertips, but then he hears Zolf humming to himself, and he lets the spell go. Hamid sits up and rubs his eyes. Softly, he calls, "Hello, again," and Zolf looks up at him. 

"Hey." 

As he continues toward the campsite, Hamid sees the moon glinting off of something in Zolf's hand. Something... 

"Wait." Hamid points at the trident. "Didn't you--" 

Zolf looks up at it. "I did." 

Hamid peers up at it, too. It _looks_ like Zolf's trident, but Hamid wouldn't really know the difference between one trident and another. Hamid beams at him. "Cool!" 

Zolf shrugs. "Looks like I did something right. Oh, and, uh--"

Sasha snores so loudly she makes Hamid jump. Zolf snickers. "Sasha's out, but." He reaches out and places a hand on Hamid's shoulder. Hamid ignores the butterflies in his stomach. (Sasha's continued loud snoring helps.) "Thank you for coming with me. It means a lot." Hamid _tries_ to ignore the butterflies. 

He smiles nervously and deflects, "Don't know how much I helped." 

Zolf grins at him self-consciously, and the butterflies _refuse to be ignored._ "That's arguably not the point." 

Hamid nods because he doesn't really know what else to do, and manages, "Okay."

Zolf squeezes his shoulder and then takes his hand away. "I've got some driftwood for the fire! We should set that up, yeah?" Hamid nods and begins clearing a circle in the rough centre of their little camp to put the fire. It becomes rapidly apparent that they'll need it because as the night wears on, the temperature drops steadily. They silently work to build up the campfire. Both of _them_ are silent, at least. Sasha, not so much.

Sasha, in fact, snores so enthusiastically she wakes herself up for a minute. 

"Wh'ss'it?" she grumbles. Hamid moves to pat her shoulder reassuringly, but reconsiders on the off-chance she's awake enough to stab him. 

"Nothing, Sasha. Go back to sleep." 

Sasha sniffles, rolls over, then does so. Zolf huffs a laugh as he moves one of the last bits of driftwood into the fire. "Awful loud for her, isn't it?" 

Hamid, curled in on himself on the sand, gives a shrug that's cut off by a full-body shiver. Zolf clicks his fingers a few times, and slowly, the fire catches. 

Hamid wraps his arms around himself and shifts closer to the flame. Zolf stays up for a moment more, making sure it won't burn out, before making his way over. Hamid shivers again, and Zolf raises an eyebrow. As he sits down, he asks, "You alright?" Hamid smiles thinly. 

(He is freezing and waterlogged and uncomfortable. He almost drowned a few hours ago. Sitting this close to Zolf without the barrier of Sasha's awkwardness or Bertie's loudness means he has to think about his feelings towards the dwarf. Sasha's still snoring discordantly with nearby crickets and cicadas. He feels like, any second, he's going to have a panic attack brought on by the sensory and emotional overload of everything going on. He is almost as far away from 'okay' as it is possible to be.)

What he says out loud is, "Just a little chilly, I suppose." 

Zolf makes a considering noise. He tugs at one of his coat sleeves and then suggests, "You could take my coat?" 

Hamid blinks over at him. "What? No, no, it's fine. Don't you need that?" 

Zolf gives a half-shrug and begins to take the trench coat off. "No, not really. Dwarven fortitude, or something. Here," he says, holding it out to him, "take it." 

Hamid hesitantly takes the jacket. It's soaked through and too big for him, but at least it's warm. "Thank you." 

Zolf shrugs again, avoiding eye-contact. "Yeah. Whatever."

Hamid Prestidigitates the jacket dry again, along with the rest of his clothes. He looks over to Zolf and asks, "Do you want me to dry you off?" 

Zolf continues to not look at him. “That’d be nice, yeah. If you don’t mind.” Hamid reaches into his sleeve (which currently _isn’t_ his sleeve, it’s Zolf’s. But. Semantics.) and withdraws a handkerchief. He reaches out, and he’s going to just flap it vaguely, that’s more than enough to Prestidigitate him dry, but. Hamid's always been a bit reckless. And he's already wearing the other man's coat, how much worse for his heart could this next part be?

“Look at me?” Zolf does so, raising his eyebrows and not turning his head. “It’s easier if- here,” and Hamid reaches out and gently turns Zolf’s head towards him. “It’s easier if you’re closer,” he lies. (Not technically a lie. It only works if the target is close enough.) Zolf shifts closer until their legs are pressed together, and Hamid is still holding his face. Hamid tries not to think too hard about the fact that _this is his boss who he has a crush on._ Instead, he thinks about Prestidigitating the damp away, and that gives him something to focus on that isn’t how close Zolf is or how warm his cheek is under Hamid’s hand or how _green_ his eyes are, with flecks of brown that look gold in the firelight; _has Hamid ever seen that shade of green before?_

No. No, Hamid's not focusing on that.

“Hamid?” Hamid jumps. Zolf has gotten closer. Oh, dear. Oh, dear, Hamid’s been really obviously staring, oh, no. He-- did he already finish Prestidigitation? Yes, he did, okay, oh, dear.

Hamid whispers, “Um, sorry.” because if he says it any louder than he might actually have to acknowledge any of the things that he was just thinking and Hamid doesn’t care to do that, thanks. Zolf tilts his head slightly, brows furrowing.

He asks, “Sorry?” in a voice that might even be softer than Hamid’s. And he’s _close,_ he’s _so close,_ and he’s leaning _closer_ ( _is_ he leaning closer?), and if Hamid just leaned in and tilted his head _like so_ and closed his eyes then maybe, maybe, _maybe_ \--

Sasha snores.

Hamid jolts back, eyes snapping open. Zolf stammers, “Uh-”  
“Sorry! Sorry, I-”  
“No, no, it’s-”  
“I didn’t mean-”  
“There wasn’t-”  
“I would _never-”_  
_“That didn’t happen!”_

Hamid’s excuses die in his throat. There’s nothing to excuse. Nothing to apologise for, either. That didn’t happen. Right, no, of course, it didn’t. That _can’t_ happen. Zolf is his boss, and why on Earth would he have any interest in Hamid, anyway? “That didn’t happen,” Hamid agrees. 

Zolf shuffles away from him and adds, “And now, we never mention that again. Okay?”

Hamid forces a grin that he prays looks convincing and asks, “Never mention what, Zolf?” Zolf nods, mostly to himself, looking anywhere but Hamid. Hamid gets to his feet and walks closer to the fire. He lays down and draws the jacket ( _Zolf’s_ jacket, the thing that started this mess, the thing that would be far too awkward to give back now) around himself as a makeshift blanket. He closes his eyes and says, to the camp at large, “Goodnight.”

Closer than he expected, (but farther than he would like) he hears, “Yep, ‘night.”

Hamid sighs and tucks himself into the coat. It’s warm and too big for him, and it smells of saltwater and of Zolf and Hamid kind of wants to bury his face in the collar. He doesn't. He wonders if Zolf is as warm as his coat, and then pointedly doesn't. He wonders if Zolf would have put an arm around him to help warm him up if he'd asked and then Hamid pointedly doesn't wonder about _that,_ either. He wonders what would have happened if Sasha hadn't snored and made them break apart and _he cannot catch a break from these thoughts, can he?_ He rolls over, squints his eyes shut, and wills himself to fall asleep where he won’t have to think about this.

(Apparently, his brain is spiteful, as he dreams of that almost-kiss over, and over, and over again.)

(They’d better win this godsdamn bet.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check me out on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer where i loudly ramble about rqg and quietly scream about how much i love these two disaster lads. o also check out @hinotorihime while youre there she's cool i guess  
> oh, uh, edit, i recently learned that zolfs eyes are actually green. and if im going with a more canon interpretation, i might as well go all the way, u know?


	13. The Exposition Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Bertie has concerns, Sasha takes a suggestion, Zolf is a surprisingly good hugger for a man with no charisma, and Hamid overthinks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> set in the exposition box! as in the episode _and_ the box itself. look at me go, im so clever. fair warning: this is short bc im Suffering both with inspiration  & with school. and also my teeth, but that's more of a background issue. anyway! on with the ~~shitshow~~ chapter!

Bertie interrupts him by waving his arms a bit hysterically, going even redder in the face. "Yes, yes, we've all _shared_ and _learned_ and _grown_ , let's all hug! _Screaming poo fire dimension for all eternity!"_ Hamid scowls at him. Whenever Hamid tries to help Bertie look better, the human always says _something_ that makes Hamid wonder why he bothered in the first place.

Sasha scowls, too, but she looks more hurt than angry. "Okay," she tells Bertie, eyebrows still furrowed, " _you're_ not allowed." Hamid opens his mouth to ask what she means just as she kneels down and drags him into a hug with her and Zolf. It's... sweet. And unexpected. And _very awkward_. And kind of poke-y. 

Not as poke-y than Hamid would have expected, though. Sasha's gained weight. Her wrist isn't as sharp where it presses against his shoulder blade. It still pokes him a little, but it's not like the first time she jabbed a wrist into his ribs and almost _cut_ him. She mumbles, "Good?" and Hamid is going to _cry_ , she's trying _so hard_ to show affection.

He extracts the hand that Sasha had pinned to his chest and places it carefully on her mid-back. Bertie, being ignored, begins muttering to himself and Brutor. Hamid decides he doesn't care. Zolf puts one arm around Hamid and the other around Sasha and pulls them all together a bit tighter. Hamid doesn't squeak _or_ melt into the hug because he is mature and can control his emotions.

Very softly, Zolf assures, "Yeah, Sasha. Good." as his hand curls around Hamid's waist. And if it sends Hamid's pulse racing, he can blame that on the fact that he's still getting used to _casual touches_ from his _friends_. Because that is all that that is. Sasha lays her head on top of his, and now he _does_ melt into the hug. For half a moment, Hamid is perfectly content.

Sasha jerks away from the hug and is back to where she was standing before in the time it takes Hamid to blink. Zolf takes a step away from Hamid. Sasha isn't looking at either of them, and Hamid tries not to feel hurt. (He fails, but that's beside the point.)

Sasha clears her throat. "Right, anyone wanna see what's in this envelope?"

Hamid, desperately ignoring all of the overthinking he's doing, declares, "Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im @roswell-the-wrongdoer on tumblr. ty ily buh bye til wednesay!


	14. Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hamid has a perfectly pleasant night out, and Madeleine lets her date down easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hamid has a da-A-ate ooooOOOoooo what a _flirt._  
>  Cough. Anyway.  
> Miss Madeleine Veillon is great, and I don't care what pathfinder says gnomes look like. They have tails. My world now, Pathfinder manual. _my world now._ This one is also short bc im a horrid goddamn gremlin. I relistened to episodes and googled french names so I could fucking SPELL HER NAME. WHY DO ALL OF HIS DATES HAVE SUCH DIFFICULT TO SPELL NAMES? IDEK IF THAT'S ACTUALLY HER NAME. ALEX SAID IT SO QUIETLY. I know its probs Madeline, BUT I do what I want, and gnomes have fun names anyway. Maybe she's named after a kind of cake. you don't know. I don't know either. _my world_.

Madeleine picks him up in a handsome cab. She leans out its window and smiles at him. "Nice suit," she giggles, "but you might be a little overdressed." He walks around to the opposite side of the cab and lets himself in.

She looks nice. Her hair is spiked up, and she's wearing a fitted blouse with high-waisted slacks. It's less intimidating than her secretary outfit. A smile playing on his lips, he asks, "Well, what would you suggest?" and tugs at his cuffs.

She looks at the sleeves, and her eyebrows raise slightly. She leans forward and gives the driver the address. The handsome cab starts as she takes Hamid's wrist. "Are these Sleeves of Many Garments?" Her tail flicks excitedly behind her as she examines them.

Hamid brightens and answers, "Yes, actually! They're probably the most useful things I own. An old birthday gift." She beams at him. Her hand slips from his wrist to his palm, and then she interlaces their fingers. Hamid squeezes. Madeleine squeezes back. 

(It doesn't overwhelm him like he thought it would.)

The cab draws to a stop outside of a nice --if plain --restaurant. Hamid gets out first and heads around to open the door for Madeleine. She giggles at him again. "Why thank you," she teases, taking his hand as she gets out, "for your politeness, Mister al-Tahan." 

He laughs as they head in. "It's my pleasure, Miss Veillon." She playfully swats at his shoulder.

They head in arm in arm. 

(It feels comfortable, in a dull sort of way. There's no sense of nervous enthusiasm like there always was with Liliana. None of the guilty exhilaration that came with Gideon. No butterflies swarm in his stomach when she squeezes his elbow and smiles down at him.)

She's eager enough to talk. And Hamid is patient enough to listen and subtle enough to steer the conversation back to what's been happening at her job. They don't really have that much in common, other than a love of clothes and a vague interest in magic. But Madeleine's is more involved with the "why", whereas Hamid mostly cares about the "how".

It isn't _awkward_ , per se, but it doesn't feel much like a date. When the check arrives, their hands meet on top of the pen. Madeleine raises an eyebrow, smirking at him. "I can cover this, Mr Al-Tahan." 

Hamid smiles back charmingly. "As can I, Miss Veillon. You picked the restaurant, it's only fair." Madeleine wrinkles her nose in mock-angry surrender and takes her hand off of the pen. Hamid pays and leaves a generous tip.

They spend most of the cab ride back to Le Triomphe in companionable silence. It isn't the worst date Hamid's been on, to be honest. There was no real romance, but he had a lovely evening anyway. The cab pulls to a stop and Madeleine is already opening his door for him. He takes the hand she offers.

"I had a good time," she gushes, tail curling awkwardly around her ankle. Hamid raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"But?"

She sighs. "But, I don't think a second date is likely. Sorry." Hamid shrugs.

"It's perfectly alright. Thank you for the evening, Madeleine." She leans down and gives him a perfunctory peck on the cheek. 

(It's a kiss. Hamid doesn't really have any particular feelings about it.)

"Thank you for dinner, Hamid." She gives him a small wave as she gets back into the handsome cab. Hamid waits for the taxi to get out of sight before Prestidigitating the lipstick off his cheek. Not that the gesture wasn't appreciated, it was just sticky. 

It reminds him of when Aziza would play dress-up with him, and they'd pretend to be high-society people. That thought actually makes him smile to himself. He goes back into Le Triomphe tired, but content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer hit me up!! send me asks!! tell me how to improve my writing!!! tell me my writing is already great!! i crave interaction.


	15. A... Lab? Probably?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Bertie isn't a hero, but he's probably close enough, Hamid needs waterproof eyeliner, and Zolf only manages to repress _half_ of a breakdown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u wanna know why i didnt write the bit when they were underground and being Hunted™️, that's because i already wrote it. (from zolf's pov. like. half a year ago. But Whatever, I Wrote It.) this was a fun one to write because i had to restrain myself from using the phrase "cr[ies] into [Zolf's] strong, manly shoulder." bc like. c'mon. and im sorry that like, half of these have been zolf-centric but see, heres the thing: I Love Him. Totally Unrelated, twoish/threeish more chapters until i force myself to write my Favourite Character leaving the party due to a crisis! hamid will not be the only one crying during that chapter.

Hamid wakes up to somebody's hand over his mouth. It's worrying, but nowhere near as worrying as what had been happening when he'd fallen unconscious. Hamid considers keeping his eyes closed and going back to sleep, but he's sure it'll only get worse if he does. He peeks through an eye and sees Sasha, standing a ways away from him. She seems to be counting her daggers. He focuses on the too-bright thing looming over him and slowly recognises Zolf.

Zolf, who got thrown into a chasm. So he can't be here. Is Hamid hallucinating? Or— oh. Oh, Hamid was thrown into the ravine too, wasn't he? That's where he lost consciousness, in the grasp of that terrible creature. There's— he couldn't have survived that fall.

Oh, dear.

"Am I dead?" he asks, sitting up, "Are you all dead, too?" Sasha, apparently satisfied with her knives, puts two fingers to her wrist. _Checking for a pulse_ , Hamid recognises, and of course, that's her first reaction. He almost wants to laugh. 

Sasha shrugs and puts her hands back into her jacket pockets. "If anything," she tells him, wandering over, "my heart's a little more vigorous than usual. So, y'know." Zolf sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.

He grumbles, "Demonstrably not dead." and looks around the room they're all in. "We _appear_ to be—" 

A familiar, booming voice interrupts, "Although I _have_ been mistaken for the face of an _angel,_ you are _not dead,_ Hamid." Hamid blinks up. Bertie is smiling down at him. He doesn't look like an angel, but he looks real enough that Hamid can't help but relax. Things will be okay because the party's back together again. Things _have_ to be okay because everyone's here and everyone's safe. Bertie puts a gauntleted hand on his arm and squeezes gently.

He puts a hand on top of Bertie's and squeezes back. "It's good to see you, Bertie." Bertie's helmet glints as he nods emphatically.

"It's good to see you too, Hamid."

Zolf clears his throat. Hamid turns to look at him. The table must be raised quite a bit, Hamid thinks, Zolf seems almost a foot shorter. "Bertie, where on earth are we? What are _you_ doing here, and what are _we_ doing here, and what the hell is going on with—" he gestures at something below the table's edge that Hamid can't see— " _everything?_ "

Bertie takes his hand away and puts it on his hip. He begins, _"Well,"_ and Zolf glares at him.

He growls, "Skip to the end." and Bertie glowers at him. 

Bertie announces, "I found the Circlet of Command, it was brilliant." in a way that sounds _exceedingly_ petty. It also seems like he's about to launch into an incredibly exaggerated story of everything he did.

Hamid smiles at him in appeasement and pats his arm. "You'll have to tell me the whole story." Bertie beams and takes in a big breath. Hamid flaps a hand at him and clarifies, "Later, maybe." Bertie pouts, but he seems less likely to tell the whole saga right then to annoy Zolf.

Bertie resumes his heroic pose, hands on hips. "I succeeded, it was brilliant. Uhm, oh! I met a very nice young man who— no, no, that's a different story. What was I explaining?"

Zolf, who is slowly turning the colour of a tomato, interrupts, "Legs! Sockets!" He gestures at the same place as before, then waves a hand in Sasha's direction. "Her organs weren't in her body when I found her! And—"

 _"WHAT?"_ yells Sasha.  
_"What?"_ screeches Hamid.  
_"What."_ blusters Bertie.

 _"Yes,_ okay?" shouts Zolf, "Because I woke up in that tank, with a _thing_ down my throat, and I've been trying to keep calm for a _really long time,_ because I can't walk anymore, and I'm a bit at the end of my tether! So if you _wouldn't mind_ , telling me _where we are_ —" he takes a deep breath and presses a hand over his eyes. The next words come out shaky, and Hamid can't tell if Zolf's laughing or if he's beginning to cry. "That'd be really nice. Thank you."

Bertie chimes in, "Waking up with a tether and something jammed down your throat sounds like a pretty good night out to me, but there you go." Hamid smacks Bertie's arm and scowls. Bertie appears not to notice.

Zolf glares up at Bertie with the _filthiest_ look Hamid has ever seen him hold. "Bertie, I am _not in the mood."_

Bertie harrumphs. Hamid is far more preoccupied with getting solid ground under him than listening to Bertie. The table isn't actually raised up all that high. Which is strange, considering how small Zolf seemed from on top of it. Zolf puts a steadying hand on Hamid's arm as he gets down. Except, he doesn't have to lean down to do it. Hamid squints at him confusedly, before looking down.

"Zolf!" he cries, "You've lost your other leg!"

Zolf sighs. He rubs at his temples and says, "Yes. Thank you for that, Hamid."

Hamid takes a step forward as tears begin to well up in his eyes and he wails, "I'm so sorry!" Zolf seems to be at a loss for words. 

After a moment, he settles on, "Yes."

Bertie, now even higher up than before, asks, "Why, did _you_ cut the other one off?"

(He had been so desperate and anxious and his hands had been claws but he hadn't had any time to think about that because Zolf was suffocating and what if he _died_ and his claws hit something and he heard a muffled cry and then Zolf's leg hadn't been working and Hamid never saw why but oh gods he probably slashed it he's the reason Zolf lost his leg he's the one who—)

Bertie, entirely unaware of Hamid's minor crisis, bellows, "Oh, that was a statement of _regret_ , not an apology, I see. How novel. Come on now, Hamid, no use crying over spilt—" he pauses. It sounds as though he's realised that what he's about to say is tactless, but decides to power through, "Well, spilt _limbs."_

Zolf _does_ laugh at that, but it comes out bitter and harsh. He tamps it down and clarifies, "Little of column A, little of column B. Hamid, how's your arm?" Hamid pats at his arm, and it doesn't hurt. There’s a large scar winding from his shoulder to his wrist, but he only ever wears longs sleeves anyway; he’s sure no one will see.

Hamid stammers, “Oh, um, it seems better!” and gives Zolf a watery smile. Zolf doesn’t smile back, he just looks worried. He's worried about Hamid, who made him lose his other leg. Hamid knows he doesn't deserve it, and tears are streaking down his face as he says, "Oh, Zolf, I'm _so sorry."_ And he doesn't think at all before pulling Zolf into a hug.

(Hamid is aware it's bad etiquette to sob into someone's shoulder. But right now he honestly doesn't care.)

"Uh," Zolf blurts out, sounding a little panicked, "I've dealt with a lot of emotions today, I don't really— there, there?" Hamid, who is distantly aware that he's making a fool of himself, continues to do so. Zolf puts an awkward hand on his back. "It's, um. It's okay, Hamid. You're okay."

Hamid argues, "But you aren't!" into Zolf's shoulder. He's pretty sure Zolf doesn't comprehend it, what with all of the sobbing. And the fact that words are usually difficult to make out when they're mumbled into the space between someone's shoulder and neck. He continues to mumble, _"You_ aren't okay, and we're going to," he hiccups, "find who did this, and I'm going to... I'm gonna _drown them _. In a _bucket."_ Zolf rubs comforting circles into Hamid's back as Hamid continues snivelling.__

__Sasha, very tentatively, asks, "Is he okay?"_ _

__Hamid feels Zolf nod. Softly, almost as if not to disturb him, Zolf says, "He'll be fine. Could you find me crutches or a walking stick?" Sasha's feet move away, and after a second, so do Bertie's._ _

__Hamid sniffs. "Sorry," he whispers, "I'm so sorry." Zolf begins several sentences but doesn't finish any of them. After a brief pause, he sighs and brings his other arm around Hamid._ _

__"It's okay," he whispers back, "we're okay." Hamid pretends he doesn't hear the tremor in Zolf's voice. Hamid pretends he isn't clinging to Zolf like he's a lifeline. Hamid pretends he believes Zolf. Zolf murmurs, "We're okay. Alright? We have to be okay. We don't have time for this right now. Are you going to be able to let go of me?" Hamid takes a shaky breath in._ _

__Shaky breath out._ _

__He lets go of Zolf and takes a step back. And then raises a hand to his mouth in mild shock because there is smudged black eyeliner _all over_ the right side of Zolf's face. Zolf gives him a halfhearted grin. "Eyeliner, right? How bad is it?" Hamid pulls a handkerchief out of his sleeve and runs it down Zolf's jawline, Prestidigitating the streaks away._ _

__"Not that bad," Hamid answers, smiling softly. He Prestidigitates his own eyeliner back into place and tucks the handkerchief away again._ _

__He squares his shoulders and ignores everything in him that says he should curl into a ball and sob until the problem goes away and asks, "What do we do now?"_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> find me on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer where i cry about fictional characters and also about life in general. there's a lot to cry abt, okay? hamid knows whats up.
> 
> ps. it's canon that hamid's shirt was cut in the classic autopsy cut during this scene, so like. 1/3 Naked Halfling Loudly Cries About How Everything Is His Fault While Low-Charisma Dwarf Looks On Worriedly was the working title of this ch. for a while. youre all welcome.


	16. In the Simulation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Brock figures out a way through and Hamid isn't allowed to give up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) this one's short and ~~not~~ sweet and also im so sorry it's up late  
>  warning for emetophobia, courtesy of "Bryn's smug little face"

_Knock knock knock._ Hamid opens one eye. For what is probably the second time in his life, he's eaten too much. It was good cheesecake, though. Who cares if it's all simulated? _Knock knock knock._ Hamid isn't comfortable where he is, but he knows he'll be less comfortable if he gets up. He looks up to wave a servant, but there's no one else in the room. _Knock knock knock._ He groans and staggers to the door.

Sasha's mechanical man is stood there. Hamid squints up at it. The mechanical man doesn't seem to have anything in its hands. Hamid asks, "What?"

A staticky distortion sounds from its chest. Mechanical men can't speak. But that wasn't speaking, that was a groan of machinery, maybe, or something like that. Hamid asks again, "What?" in the hopes that it will just pull out an envelope from behind its back and he can read the note and then--

"Go back." says the mechanical man, clear as day, and there's the proof none of this is real. Hamid's heart drops into his stomach. "Get out."

Hamid sputters, "Back _where_ , out of _what?"_ even though he knows exactly where and he knows exactly what. His stomach churns, and the mechanical man reaches out. It takes his hand surprisingly gently, as though Hamid is made of spun glass. (Fragile and useless and incredibly close to breaking does sound like Hamid, if he's honest with himself.)

It lowers itself down to one knee, and Hamid is eye-level with it now. The metal hand encasing his is warm, and the face reflected back in the golden faceplate isn't Hamid's. He has a sinking feeling as he recognises the same snub nose and arching eyebrows he's seen on Sasha and Barrett in the reflection smiling sadly at him. "Sometimes," says the distorted, monotone voice that doesn't match with the reflection's sincerity, "you have to try."

Hamid vomits on it.

He feels better, if also incredibly guilty. The mechanical man tilts his head, and Hamid hurriedly pulls out a handkerchief. "Um, sorry," he mumbles, Prestidigitating the automaton clean. 

Mechanical men can't sigh, but this one does. The newly-shined faceplate shows Brock (because it _must_ be Brock) no longer smiling. He drops Hamid's hand and takes him by the shoulder instead. "You don't get to give up," he says, nodding at the table behind Hamid, "Sasha needs you."

Hamid turns to look at the table, and half the foods have vanished. This simulation is shutting down. He asks, "Is there still a chance?" even though he knows the answer. Of course, there's still a chance, why else would Brock bother to do this? He doesn't want there to be a chance, he doesn't want to leave. He wants his parents to be proud of him, and he wants to be famous, and he wants to retire to someplace beautiful and live the rest of his life _happily._

Brock shrugs, and that bitter smile is back on his face. "There's an easy way to find out."

Hamid wants all of these things. But he _needs_ to help his friends. So he bolts down the corridor, down the stairs, down the street, the not-quite-human warmth of not-quite-Brock's hand lingering on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :))) come check me out on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer. fair warning: i scream.


	17. Le Triomphe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Zolf has the other half (and then some) of that breakdown, and Hamid does his best to help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, remember that time Zolf awkwardly comforted Hamid, who was sobbing into his shoulder? Time for a little role reversal :) also, this is like? probably? incredibly out of character? sorry. this was half me venting, so. hhh yikes sorry.

Hamid is shocked awake by screaming from Zolf's room. He scrambles to his feet and shoves open the door. Zolf is thrashing in his bed, the blankets twisting wildly. Hamid rushes over and attempts to get the covers off, so Zolf doesn't tangle himself up too badly, ignoring the water that seeps into his shoes. Hamid manages to yank the covers off just as Zolf's eyes snap open.

Hamid climbs onto the bed and takes Zolf's hand. He soothes, "It's alright, you're safe. I'm here, okay? I'm here." 

Zolf mutters, "Right," and Hamid can see his eyes have all but glazed over. He blinks slowly and takes a deep breath in. "Right," he repeats like it's steadying him, and he clutches at Hamid's hand as he looks down. Hamid follows his eyes to see the water from the floor just finish shaping... legs. Legs made of water. _Sealegs._

(Okay. That's something that's happened, now. Alright. Hamid will freak out later.)

"This isn't," Zolf pauses. His hand tightens around Hamid's. "This isn't what I--" he begins to shake, slightly-- "this isn't what I agreed to." Tears are beginning to well up in his eyes, and Hamid _doesn't know how to help._

Zolf says, "This isn't what I want." but it's only a statement. There aren't any emotions behind the words; he doesn't look angry, just confused. He takes the dolphin hung around his neck and looks into its tiny wooden face. "What are you doing?" he asks it, but the question sounds vacant. Like that's just what Zolf thinks he _should_ be asking.

He starts a sentence and then sighs, heavily. "What do you want?" he asks the dolphin, "What is this? Why-- _I don't know what you want!"_ he shouts, maybe to Poseidon, maybe to the universe at large. The tears are falling off of his face, now, and he still looks _confused._ Hamid doesn't say anything; he just gives Zolf a hug. "I don't-- " his head drops into Hamid's shoulder-- "I don't want this," he insists in a small voice.

Hamid doesn't know how long they stay like that; Zolf's head on Hamid's shoulder, Hamid's arms around Zolf as he murmurs comforting nonsense. "I'm sorry," he whispers, "I'm sorry. We'll fix this, okay? Or we'll find a way to help you cope. Or something. You'll be okay." Zolf doesn't say anything, and Hamid holds him tighter.

Eventually, Zolf clears his throat and apologises, "Sorry. Sorry, I--" he half-heartedly pushes Hamid away-- "didn't mean to. You don't need to deal with my issues."

Hamid ( _doesn't want to let go, Zolf's still sad and Hamid knows a hug won't fix everything but it feels like all he can do and_ ) pulls back, keeping his hands on Zolf's shoulders. "You didn't need to deal with mine. It's only fair." Zolf looks... well, he looks wrecked. There's not any way Hamid can be gentle about it without lying.

"Don't." Hamid tilts his head in confusion. There are still tears in Zolf's eyes, but now there's something else, too. Zolf glowers as he mutters, "Don't look at me like that."

Hamid knits his brow. "Look at you like what?" he asks gently. (He respects Zolf, he trusts him; He knows that when he's angry, Zolf can be a bit of a powderkeg.)

Zolf laughs bitterly and says, "Like I'm _broken!"_ as if it should be obvious. As if it's the only natural way to look at him. Hamid tries to argue, but Zolf cuts him off, "I'm _fine,_ Hamid."

"You're not." 

Zolf stares down at the bedsheets. "I'm fine," he says again, tone sharp and voice trembling. Hamid puts a hand on his cheek and tilts his head up. And seeing Zolf's face _hurts_. Zolf has always been the one who grounded him, the one who kept a level head and knew what they were going to do next. But now, he just looks miserable, angry at himself. There are tear tracks down his face, and to say his breathing is _shaky_ would be generous. Hamid wants to smile reassuringly, but he doesn't have it in him.

Hamid repeats, "You're not," as softly as he can, trying to convey _I will burn everything that has hurt you_ and _it's okay that you're going through this_ and _I love you, I love you, I love you_ in just those two syllables. 

Zolf leans into the hand and says, "Sorry." Hamid pulls Zolf into another hug. "Sorry," he repeats, "sorry," until it's just the outline of the word around sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The emotions Hamid tries to convey during that last bit are based on actual feelings I am having a lot of right now. And Zolf's awkward anger/sadness/w h a t t h e f u c k i s t h i s mood swings accompanied by sobbing into a dear friend's shoulder is _also_ based on recent events because I force Zolf to deal with his trauma through breakdowns because I don't have time for a breakdown of my own.  
>  So.  
> If this is very angsty and dumb I apologise; this is what happens when I open the emotions box.  
> Check me out @roswell-the-wrongdoer I still crave that mineral (that mineral being interaction in literally any form) & I love y'all.


	18. Lockshop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which a man burns, and Hamid is far too occupied to think about that right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the next one is fine I promise. warning for minor character death

Hamid is hungry and tired. The man stood in the doorway has food and a perfectly charming smile that sets Hamid's teeth on edge. Hamid's stalling for time, so he plays up his own stereotypes. He's agreeable without recognising the danger of the situation, he accepts the food and babbles like he hasn't a care in the world.

_Don't mind me,_ he tries to convey, _I'm just here to look pretty._

And the mouthpiece buys it, buys that Hamid isn't a threat, buys that he'll get away with wedging his foot in the door and sliding inside the shop. Hamid lets him. Hamid doesn't know who's watching.

Hamid knows that the mouthpiece is saying things, he understands that _he's_ saying things, but he's too keyed up to comprehend a word. Until the man, still charming, still pristine, laughs. The laugh is warm-- the kind of laugh that makes you want to be in on the joke. "Well," he says, still smiling, "let's just play this out. Are you going to come out with us? Or, maybe we burn the building down a bit." His expression isn't cold. He doesn't look angry; there's no hint of steel in his eyes. 

It's not any less unsettling. He looks at each of them, skimming over Zolf and Sasha. 

(They always skim over Zolf and Sasha. A dwarf and a malnourished girl who stands at barely 5'4" don't ever garner any attention.)

He looks at Bertie for half a second before his eyes settle on Hamid. Hamid doesn't bristle because he knows to play up the cluelessness. The mouthpiece simpers, "Maybe we kill one of you as a warning--"

(In the street outside of Le Triomphe, Hamid saw red. Hamid knew a spell he'd never heard of. Hamid cast it and he watched as the gnome burst into flames and went up into smoke. Hamid felt nauseous even as he felt invincible.)

Hamid sees red and smiles sweetly. He reaches out and up and takes the man by the hand, interjecting, "Why don't we start the burning?"

And then Hamid casts Scorching Ray.  
And then the man goes up like dry kindling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> emotions box: open  
> keyboard: tapped at  
> angst: _**here**_  
>  the emotions are forcibly removed from their box.
> 
> ...im still @roswell-the-wrongdoer come talk to me


	19. In the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hamid sleeps, and Bertie neither actively _nor_ passively ruins anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the airship. Gotta love the airship. Also, its canon that Zolf and Sasha just talk shit about their teammates. By which I mean, _I_ say it's canon. Its. Canon.

It's nice, travelling like this. Carriage rides and train rides are all well and good, but Hamid must admit, he's beginning to understand why Sasha is so keen on flying. The scenery below is breathtaking. The wine is excellent, and Bertie is uncharacteristically quiet.

It's almost perfect. It would be completely perfect was it not for the fact that Hamid is exhausted. He knows that reasonably, he's gotten enough rest, but he's _very_ sleepy. Hamid doesn't want to go back to the bedroom, though, because he's pretty sure Sasha and Zolf are in there, and he doesn't really care to interrupt whatever it is they're having a conversation about. 

(It's probably just gossip or making fun of him and Bertie. Hamid doesn't really care to hear that.)

Bertie is out of armour, and Hamid has been, slowly, throughout the past half hour, merging into his shoulder. Hamid realises he's been doing this because he blinks and his eyes don't open again for far longer than is appropriate. At which point he realises his head is entirely pillowed by something soft, and that the wine glass in his hand is actually sat empty on a nearby table. "Oh," he says, "I think I fell asleep for a bit."

Bertie shakes his head, and Hamid feels his head bumping against Bertie's shoulder, but it seems very far away. "No, you just blinked. I put away your wine. Would you like to go to bed?"

Hamid closes his eyes again. "No, no," he mumbles, "here is fine." Bertie sighs and loosens his shoulder so as to make it more comfortable for Hamid to lie on. "G'night," Hamid slurs, already half unconscious.

He thinks-- he _thinks_ \-- he hears Bertie say, "Of course, Hamid," just as Hamid fades from consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A nice, calming chapter. Bet you never thought the words "nice" or "calming" would ever be even tangentially related to Sir Bertrand, but here we are! You can find me on Tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer where I am smug about recent things I've written. ty ily. i think i'm gonna take a hiatus from this because i'm kind of Yikes rn, but like. yeah. i'll update when i can, ily, see you soonish. i hope.


	20. Somewhere Over Frankfurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Hamid has a nightmare and Zolf tries not to impose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not,, _not_ canon,,,,, also I have no excuses for this being so long after the last update. I've been Preoccupied. I will probably Continue to be preoccupied, so like. Sorry, yall. Also warning for like, canon-typical body horror through the lens of Hamid's mildly screwed-up subconscious.

_(Sasha slumps to the floor, and when Hamid turns to look, her chest has opened up in an autopsy cut. Bertie is lying next to her, patches of him replaced with dead skin from the corpse automatons. Hamid turns to Zolf, still in his wheelchair, to see if_ he _can do anything. Except Zolf isn't in his wheelchair, he's standing on metallurgic legs, and more and more of him is turning to the polished silver of the prosthetics. And Hamid_ can't help _because his arms have been neatly sliced open along the scar from the catacombs, and Hamid_ can't scream _because there's an almost-surgical slit along his throat, and tears are falling and falling and falling and—)_

His eyes fly open and the pillow he's clutching un-fluffs some as his claws tear through the fabric.

He's in a bed.  
He's on the airship.  
He's safe.

...he's crying.

Hamid doesn't know _why_ he's crying, he's had worse dreams than this and been fine. But there's not much to do except hide his face in the slowly-collapsing pillow and sob.

"Hamid?" Zolf asks muzzily from the bunk above him, and Hamid presses the pillow harder into his face, trying to muffle his tears. Silence, then shifting, and Hamid thinks that Zolf has gone back to sleep when he hears the ladder creaking. 

Hamid stammers, "No, it's fine. Go back to sleep; I didn't mean to wake you." The ladder continues creaking, and Zolf's feet hit the floor. Hamid pulls the blanket over himself in a sorry attempt to hide. There's more silence, and then a weight settles on the bed next to him.

Zolf doesn't say anything. He just sits there, the mattress dipping slightly under him, nearly making Hamid slide closer. It's either comforting or very, _very_ awkward, but Hamid can't quite decide which. After a long, quiet pause, Zolf asks, "D'you wanna talk about it?"

_(Zolf is standing on the legs Mr Ceiling made for him, and more and more of him is turning into the same wrought silver—)_

Hamid shakes his head. Zolf says, "Okay," with obvious relief in his voice. Except he doesn't move. Zolf stays where he is, sitting a few inches away from Hamid. And as content as Hamid is to ignore everything, this isn't a situation that's going to let itself be ignored.

 _(The metal is spreading slowly, but fast enough that there's nothing he can_ do _about it—)_

Before he can entirely stop himself, Hamid mumbles, "Can I—" he pulls the pillow a little way away from his mouth so the words can make their way through the blanket— "I know you don't like it when people mess with your legs, but can I? Just- not like Bertie did, but I—" _need to make sure you're not turning into metal._

Hamid doesn't say that. 

"I'd rather you didn't," Zolf answers, and Hamid nods. It isn't something he expected to get a yes to, not really. That's too _personal,_ that's too _new_ and _uncertain._ Hamid doesn't even know why he asked. "Can I do something else? Like, I don't know, d'you want a hug or something?" his tone is unsure, half-joking.

...Hamid would really like a hug, though. Is the thing.

So he nods, and he sits up some, and it's far too dark for him to see anything, but he can hear Zolf moving closer. And then he can feel Zolf hugging him.

(Hamid doesn't know why he was expecting this to be anything less than excruciatingly awkward. You'd think he'd learn. Not that he _regrets_ asking for a hug. Sure, the angle is weird, and Zolf has only sort of vaguely draped his arms around Hamid, and Hamid's tears and snot are getting all over Zolf's pyjamas, but it's nice.) 

(It's.) 

(It's _not_ nice, but Hamid will take what he can get.)

Hamid usually takes his cue from others as to when he should let go, except Zolf isn't giving him that cue. Zolf is still there, not leaning away. Hamid knows, rationally, that he should probably pull back, and wipe away any remaining tears, and say that _thank you, but he really is feeling better now, so Zolf can go ahead and go back to sleep._ On a logical level, Hamid understands that he can't go to sleep like this, because that would be an inconvenience and also probably very uncomfortable for Zolf.

On the levels that are _functioning,_ however, Hamid doesn't want to let go. Because as long as he's holding on, nothing bad can happen. As long as there are warm arms around his shoulders, Hamid has proof that they're both safe and breathing and alive. 

So he doesn't let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh yeah happy valentines day i guess.


	21. Prague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Which Sasha is uncomfortable, Hamid's hand is being jiggled at an _alarming_ rate, and a goblin is very ready to _get on_ with things, already.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I Write That Scene I Will Have A Breakdown. So. I'm Not Writing That Scene. Self Love. which means... drurmroll pls... grizzop! Is!! Here!!! Enthusiastic boi... time to figure out how the fuck to write him. Hh.

"Take hands with the person next to you," drones the wizard, "don't be squeamish, we're all sentient races together." It's a procedure Hamid has been through dozens and dozens of times, but it's different this time. He's lying to get in, this time.

It's a little disorienting.

He holds his hands out, and it takes a moment, but Sasha does take his hand in hers. He turns to smile up at her, but she's staring holes into the sigil beneath them. The person next to Hamid drums his fingers on the back of Hamid's hand. "Come on," the goblin mumbles in the general direction of the wizard, "any day, now!"

Hamid whispers, "This is actually going a lot faster than it used to." The goblin blinks at him. Hamid gives him an awkward smile that he hopes is reassuring. 

The goblin narrows his eyes. "It's still going too slow," he grouses, and the fingers on Hamid's hand drum even faster.

Hamid shrugs. Sasha squeezes his hand and the wizard drones, "Three, two, one," and then the world turns inside out around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *that one fucking comic voice* Goblin Time


	22. An Opera House Roof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sky is red, and the bricks are brown, and he's so high up, and the voice is too rough, and the food is barely even food at all and and and—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lizard boi...

Hamid is high up. 

Hamid is high, high, _high_ up above the city because height and distance seem like the best options for him. The sunset glows red and bronze and brassy. "Hamid?" says someone, and Hamid growls. "Hey there." Hamid backs into the corner of the building because he doesn't know who this is and he doesn't trust them, and they want to take him down from his perch, he just _knows_ it. Hamid doesn't want to leave his perch.

The person takes a step toward him, and Hamid backs up further. His wings spread out, ready to fly away from this person and find a different perch, except they don't. Except he can't quite feel his wings. Except he's stuck, only a few feet away from this goblin he doesn't know and the rope in their hand that they're going to use to drag Hamid back down to the earth so, so, _so_ far below. Hamid growls, low in his throat, and it protests at the pitch. The goblin takes out something (dangerous?) and puts it down in front of him. Hamid snarls and raises a talon to swipe their hand off, but they've already backed up. "It's food," the goblin says, "you know? The thing you eat? It's not _good_ food, but I don't really know what else I've got that will make you trust me."

Hamid sniffs at the something. It smells dry, flavourless, and dusty, but edible. And oh, Hamid is _so hungry._ He slowly (can't stay out too long or he'll get dragged back down, and Hamid wants to stay up high, where he's safe) takes a piece of the food and drags it back into his perch. It's not good food. But it's edible, and Hamid is so hungry that he scarfs it down in two seconds flat. "Yeah, see? It's alright. I'm not gonna hurt you. Come out here, and I'll give you more food, okay?" Hamid snarls. That tone is placating, is lying, is too unfamiliar.

And then the goblin lunges for him. Hamid roars, swipes with his talons, beats his wings furiously, bites down with his fangs, but only the claws seem to really faze the goblin. Eventually, Hamid is thoroughly tied up. "I'm sorry," the goblin says as he drags Hamid back down away from his safe, high-up perch, "but it's for your own good." Hamid gives up when they're halfway down the stairs. The goblin won't let him go. Hamid coils in on himself, and the goblin just readjusts him. "We'll get you back to normal, don't worry." Something is reassuring in the steady pressure of a shoulder pressing into Hamid's side, of arms around him. And he's being held down, being kept away from the height that he needs, but maybe he needs the pressure just as much.

("Woah," says Sasha, "is that him?"  
"I sure hope so, I spent half an hour getting him down here. The last fifteen minutes were easy, though, he just kinda cuddled into my shoulder. Which, a bit weird, but it was easier than wrestling with a lizard boy all the way down the stairs."  
"Yeah, Hamid's like that. Seems like it's still him, under all the scales and stuff."

Grizzop can't shrug, but he makes the verbal equivalent. Hamid continues his soft growling. Not that he understands any of what's being said, he's just still a little resentful of the fact that's he's being carried like a scaly sack of potatoes.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy. tragedie is just around the corner. see yall in two to five business years. im on tumblr @roswell-the-wrongdoer yell at me on there abt everyones fav lil dragon man.


End file.
